


Shrunk in the Wash

by roundelet



Series: chubby sterek oneshots [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chubby Stiles, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundelet/pseuds/roundelet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We're just going to update your wardrobe. Your jeans have all turned into skinny jeans and, no offense, but you're not pulling it off," Lydia says as she gathers up her backpack.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Stiles just shrugs and bites into his third slice of pizza.</i></p><p>In which Stiles's clothes keep shrinking in the wash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shrunk in the Wash

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as an entry to the [21 Days of Chubwolf](http://chubstilinski.tumblr.com/post/89562137227/inspired-by-the-fatlock-30-day-challenge-and) by chubstilinski. Answer to #15, Oblivious/Unintentional weight gain. I've been failing so far at the other prompts, so I'm posting this as a standalone.
> 
> Warning for a couple lines of (minor) fat shaming. I think overall it's body positive. Or body neutral? Is that a thing? But, really, it's just mostly crack.

"You look good like this," Derek says. Stiles glances over at him with a confused frown. Derek's standing in the doorway, freshly showered, towel slung low over his hips.  
  
"Like what, dude? Still covered in last night's jizz?" Stiles drops his hold on his half-put on jeans and runs his hand down his stomach, where there's still a crusting of their combined semen.Their attempt at cleaning up had, as usual, only been half-hearted before they collapsed into sleep.  
  
"Yeah. That, too," Derek says with a gentle smile, a smile Stiles is pretty sure no one but him ever sees.  
  
Stiles ducks his head, and turns his attention back to his efforts fastening his jeans.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"You need new clothes, Stilinski." Lydia's eyeing him across the cafeteria table.  
  
Stiles shrugs and swallows his mouthful of curly fries (because, okay, yeah, maybe it's taken him eighteen years but he's finally realized no one appreciates it when he talks with his mouth full). He says, "Is this like junior prom? Because you and Allison had way too much fun picking out the most expensive tux in the shop."  
  
He's still bitter, because he'd lost his deposit on the tux. The sloth demon that had, naturally, crashed prom night, had also spewed goo all over Stiles. He'd ended up losing the savings that had been earmarked for the inevitable next jeep repairs.  
  
"We're just going to update your wardrobe. Your jeans have all turned into skinny jeans, and, no offense, but you're not pulling it off," Lydia says as she gathers up her backpack.  
  
Stiles just shrugs and bites into his third slice of pizza. It's cafeteria pizza, and the cheese is congealed and the pepperoni of mysterious composition, but still. Pizza. He answers, "Yeah, dad did the laundry last week. Dunno what he did but he shrunk all my clothes."  
  
Lydia raises a perfectly tapered eyebrow. It kind of reminds him of Derek. And, huh, maybe Stiles has an eyebrow kink because, between them, he's spent half his life crushing on people who express most of their thoughts through their eyebrows.  
  
"So? You coming?" Lydia asks impatiently. What were they talking about? Oh, yeah. Clothes.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with the clothes I have," Stiles starts to say. But now that he's paying attention, the tight waist of his jeans is pretty uncomfortable, the way it digs into his stomach as he's sitting down. He lets out a defeated sigh and says, "Okay, fine."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Stiles drags Scott along. So, naturally, Allison comes, too. And then proceeds to gang up with Lydia against him, because she is a traitorous traitor and Stiles should have known better.  
  
Before they even make it to the jeans section, Lydia and Allison have loaded him up with a stack of new shirts. He'd always been a size small, so he wasn't sure why they'd only chosen mediums, and a couple larges, but he knew better than to argue. At least they'd gotten some plaid ones in there, just like the ones that had been shrunk in the wash.  
  
"Stiles," Allison says from in front of the denim display. "What size are you wearing right now?"  
  
"Uh, 28 I think." Stiles drops the pile of shirts into Scott's arms (because if he's not going to do his job and defend him against all this shopping, at least he can carry the result of it). He twists around and manages to pull out the tag from under the tight waistband to check. "30, actually."  
  
Allison hands him a stack of jeans to try on. They're 32's and 34's, but they fit, so good catch on Allison's part to notice they were mislabeled. And the 32's fit fine. He doesn't have to suck in to button them up. But the 34's are more comfortable. He thinks about Lydia saying he can't pull off skinny jeans. He could totally pull off skinny jeans; he's pretty sure Derek would side with him on that, and he's the _alpha_.  
  
But comfort over fashion, he decides. He takes the 34's up to the register.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Stiles tugs down his t-shirt to meet the top of his jeans. When he lets go, it rides up again. He sighs. This had been one of his favorites, from that concert last year, and Stiles thought it had evaded his father's ill-fated laundry attempt.  
  
But now Stiles wonders if he shouldn't have been so quick to blame his father. Because, in the weeks since then, Stiles has appointed himself back in charge of the washes, and his new clothes are still slowly shrinking. The waist of his jeans is a little snug now. And plaid shirts crease all weird when he bothers to button them up.  
  
He told his father last weekend over pancakes (whole wheat, fruit toppings for his father; smothered in whipped cream and syrup for Stiles) that he needed to call a repairperson to fix the washer and dryer. But his father had just given him a strange look that pretty much implied he wouldn't be doing that.  
  
Stiles tugs his shirt down yet again, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. Maybe they should just get a new washer and dryer. It would be cheaper in the long run than having to keep replacing his wardrobe.  
  
And less painful than hitting the mall with Lydia and Allison again. He's already dreading senior prom.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Stiles hadn't bothered to change before he left for pack movie night. He'd figured the his concert shirt would stretch back out to it's normal size by the time he got to Derek's. But it didn't, and it still hasn't.  
  
But with the way Derek has his arm slung around his back, idly running his fingers up the side of Stiles's exposed stomach, he can't bring himself to care that his shirt's still riding up over his stomach.  
  
He tucks his legs up on the couch and leans contentedly into Derek's warm side. Reaches down to grab another handful of cheetos, but Jackson with his stupid werewolf reflexes snatches the bowl away.  
  
"Hey, give it back," Stiles protests, grabbing for it as Jackson holds it out of his reach.  
  
"I would if you'd save some for those of us who aren't busting out of our clothes," Jackson says snidely as he pops a cheeto into his mouth. Stiles briefly regrets not changing into a better fitting shirt. He hadn't expected anyone to notice.  
  
But then Derek is growling at Jackson, staring him down with a flash of red eyes. And Jackson meekly hands the bowl back to Derek. Derek deposits it into Stiles lap. Stiles makes a happy noise around a mouthful of cheesy fluffy goodness.  
  
Stiles catches Derek's lips curving up, just a little, as Derek gives his bare side a little squeeze. Stiles shoots him a grin and stuffs another handful of cheesy puffs into his mouth.


End file.
